Flushed Away: The Killer Next Door

Mackenzie pitched a crazy idea—a onemonth mom swap.

Her mom's constant nagging drove her insane. "Roxanne is literal goals." Mackenzie swiped through my mom's feed. "Hundreds of thousands of followers. Jetsetting across the globe.

Pure main character energy." I cut her off. "My mom only cares about herself. She's a walking red flag, not some icon." Mackenzie scoffed.

She pushed out her lower lip. "It's called having agency, Wren." Her phone smacked the mattress. "I want to ski the Swiss Alps.

I refuse to rot in that cramped dump for the holidays. So? Are we swapping or not?" A smile stretched across my face. "Deal." I prayed to God we never swapped back.

Chapter 1 Colleen shuffled through the front door, her arms loaded with overflowing grocery bags.

Her eyes crinkled into a warm, genuine smile the second she saw me. "Wren, sweetie, it's Christmas Eve. I'm making an absolute feast tonight." I scrambled off the couch to help her.

The bags were heavy, packed to the brim with every single craving I'd had over the last month. Mom lifted a massive pack of short ribs. "I'll get the ribs braising first.

You put the rest in the fridge and take them out tonight." "On it," I chirped. The first time I tasted Colleen's braised ribs, it was a literal outofbody experience.

I practically inhaled the entire platter in one sitting. She had just beamed, constantly nudging the platter closer to me. A month ago, the thought of food made my stomach churn.

I was battling a severe eating disorder, wasting away at a frail seventyfive pounds.

Thirty days here, and I'd put on a solid, healthy ten. "Smells incredible," I sighed, leaning against the counter.

Colleen peeked her head out from the kitchen, wiping her hands on an apron. "I bought plenty, so eat up.

This always used to be Mackenzie's favorite." At the mention of Mackenzie's name, we both froze for a moment.

Colleen hesitated and asked, "Wren… is Mackenzie coming home for the holidays?" Guilt gnawed at me. I should have pushed Mackenzie harder to come back. Colleen caught my hesitation.

A strained, tight smile stretched across her face. "It's fine. I'll text her later. I bet she's craving my cooking." I smiled and nodded too.

But I saw the long string of messages she sent Mackenzie, none of which were answered. Roxanne had hundreds of thousands of followers online.

Her entire grid was an endless reel of her carving up fresh powder at luxury ski resorts across the globe.

She paraded around her Norwegian husband, Magnus—who was a solid ten years her junior—and their pictureperfect twin boys, Zane and Leo.

Her fans all said she lived like a main character and wanted to be like her. My roommate was one of her most unhinged stans.

Mackenzie had accidentally caught a glimpse of my phone screen during a FaceTime call with Roxanne. "Wait, your mom is the Roxanne?" She was so excited, a healthy flush coloring her face. "Do you have any idea how obsessed I am with her?" "I…" I couldn't force a single sound out.

Roxanne had just FaceTimed me, demanding I fly out to Norway for the holidays. She hadn't offered to cover a single dime of the flight.

Mackenzie gasped, her eyes widening. "Oh my god, wait. That makes you the ungrateful daughter…" She slapped a hand over her mouth, wincing as the words slipped out.

I dropped my gaze, pretending I wasn't listening. The ungrateful daughter.

That was my official, public label on Roxanne's pristine feed. "Oops, my bad, Wren," Mackenzie chirped, zero real remorse in her tone as she pivoted right back to her obsession. "So, are you flying to Norway?

God, I am so jealous. How do you have such a badass mom and end up so… quiet?" I dug my nails into my palms. My throat tightened.

How was I supposed to explain the reality of Roxanne?

To make Mackenzie understand, I'd have to expose the ugly truth—that in her relentless pursuit of "freedom," Roxanne had dumped me on my grandmother, Phyllis, before I was even a month old.

She loves flowers. The ocean. Music. Documenting her beautiful life. She is the free wind. An uncaged bird. An independent, fearless woman.

She is herself first, and a mother second. Those were her exact words. The very same bullshit she used to justify her absence when I was fifteen. Phyllis had just died.

Tony and his debt collectors were practically breaking down my door. I was cornered, terrified, and couldn't reach Roxanne for weeks.

In sheer desperation, I had gone online and exposed her for abandoning me. Chapter 2 The video of her leaving me behind blew up overnight.

The internet tore her apart for walking out on her kid, but her rabid fan base quickly mobilized, dropping a massive thread that completely hijacked the narrative.

Roxanne came out crying, stating that she hadn't abandoned me all these years. She blamed Phyllis for gatekeeping her own daughter. Phyllis was dead.

And dead women can't set the record straight. When I suffered from massive doxxing and cyberbullying by her fans, she just said lightly, "They're just kids. They didn't mean it.

Besides, where is the lie? You just want to cancel me." I had no choice but to collect evidence and call the police.

When Roxanne found out, she cornered me into signing a legal waiver and forced me to drop all the police charges. Phyllis never loved me. Nobody did. I was the kid without a mother.

To Roxanne, I was a suffocating weight. A roadblock to her perfect, aesthetic life. I had zero safety net. If I fell, I hit the concrete.

So I had become a quiet, obedient, and introverted kid. "It's whatever. People are just wired differently." I untangled my fingers and responded to her flatly.

Mackenzie eagerly held my arm and suddenly said, "Let me go with you." "What?" The words didn't compute.

She pouted and repeated with dissatisfaction, "I'm coming to Norway with you. I need to spend the holidays with Roxanne.

I want to meet my idol in person." "Is that even a good idea?" I stared at her. "What about your family?" "Ugh, please.

I am absolutely not going home." Mackenzie rolled her eyes hard. "Colleen is literally just a basic housewife. Zero personality. She's glued to the stove.

She hasn't even left the state, let alone the country. If I go back, she's just going to nag me to death and force me to do chores.

It's toxic." A spark of sheer, calculating greed flashed in her wide eyes. "Let's swap moms for winter break. Just for a month. I stalked Roxanne's feed.

She posted about wanting a fun, bubbly daughter. I am literally the definition of fun and bubbly." I stared at her glowing, expectant face.

Memories of living with Mackenzie crashed over me. She was a spoiled, oblivious brat. She lacked a single ounce of selfawareness.

She always managed to slice right through my pride without even trying. "Why are you picking up extra shifts this weekend?

Colleen would literally die if I had to get a job." "You're so skinny. God, I wish I had anorexia. I'm huge.

It's all Colleen's fault, she basically forcefeeds me." "Your mom living abroad is such a flex. You must have had so much freedom growing up.

Nobody breathing down your neck." Every careless word made my stomach drop. I worked weekends to survive. To keep a roof over my head. My eating disorder wasn't a cute diet trend.

It was the physical manifestation of deep, rotting childhood trauma and a bank account too empty to afford real food. Freedom required a safety net.

My entire existence was a desperate, exhausting scramble just to stay alive. I was never free. Chapter 3 I stared at her, laying it all bare. "Roxanne isn't who you think she is.

You know what she did. She dumped me when—" Mackenzie angrily shook off my hand. "Why are you so obsessed with playing the victim?

Can you literally just have an ounce of empathy for her? Okay, she's your mom, but she's a woman first. You should be bragging about having her DNA.

Do you know how many moms never find themselves? They just exist with zero agency. It's tragic." I stared at her, genuinely stunned by the sheer, unadulterated hypocrisy.

She worshipped Roxanne's 'freedom', but did she ever extend that grace to her own mother?

Had she ever once looked at Colleen and said, "You are a woman first, and my mother second"? Sure, Roxanne put herself first. But what about Phyllis?

Wasn't my grandmother a person first, before she was forced into raising a newborn? Shoving your responsibilities onto someone else to chase a vibe isn't finding yourself.

It's just being a selfish parasite. Suddenly, I wanted to meet this woman who supposedly had 'zero agency'. A slow, sharp smile curved my lips. "Deal." Roxanne jumped at the idea.

To her, it wasn't a family arrangement. It was pure, viral content. Mackenzie, however, hit a snag during her negotiation.

She paced our dorm room, snapping into her phone. "Just pay for my roundtrip flight.

Roxanne, no, Mom said that once I arrive, my food will be covered, and she will take me to buy new clothes. God, why are you always nagging? I'm an adult. Just Venmo me the cash.

Actually, make it three grand." She tapped the screen violently, ending the call, and flashed me a victorious grin. "Done!" The second winter break hit, I threw myself into backtoback retail shifts.

I practically lived on the sales floor. I worked until my vision blurred, collapsing into bed the second I got home. I completely blocked out the swap. Until I opened TikTok.

Roxanne had already dropped the first video with Mackenzie. The caption screamed in bold font: SWAPPING MOMS WITH MY DAUGHTER'S ROOMMATE! The algorithm ate it up.

The like count was already pushing past a million. The comments below were all praising Mackenzie and stepping on me. @User482: This girl is giving such good vibes!

She feels like Roxanne's actual daughter. @SkiBum99: Drop the toxic daughter who tried to cancel you and keep this one. Never swap back!! Drip.

A red drop fell onto the shattered screen protector. I swiped the back of my hand under my nose. Blood. Again. My body was physically shutting down from the exhaustion.

I had to quit the shifts. I needed rest. But where was I supposed to go? After Phyllis died, Bruce swooped in and seized the house. I was practically homeless.

My screen lit up with an unknown number. I tapped accept. A soft, incredibly tentative voice filtered through the speaker. "Hello?

Is this Wren?" Mackenzie came from a messy divorce. She lived with Warren when she was little.

Colleen had bankrupted herself fighting a brutal custody battle to get her daughter back. For years, Colleen poured every ounce of her soul into raising Mackenzie.

No second husband. No more kids. Just her. And in Mackenzie's eyes? That made Colleen a pathetic woman with zero agency. Chapter 4 I dragged my suitcase up three flights of stairs.

The smell of garlic and simmering spices hit me before I even reached the landing. My stomach let out a hollow, embarrassing rumble. I hadn't eaten a real meal in two weeks.

I raised my hand to knock, but the door swung open. A woman with a round face and a bright, beaming smile stood there. "I knew it was you! I heard the footsteps.

Come on in, sweetie." I stepped into the cozy, twobedroom apartment. "You're Wren, right?" She practically glowed. "Mackenzie told me everything.

Thank you so much for giving her this chance to travel abroad. For the next month, I'm your mom." Her warmth was suffocating in the best way. I didn't know how to handle it.

I sat awkwardly on the sofa, holding the bowl she'd stuffed into my hands. It was filled with big, plump cherries—which had to be insanely expensive this time of year.

Looking at her expectant eyes, I called out slowly, "M… Mom." "Oh, sweet girl," she cooed, gently ruffling my hair. "Dinner's almost ready.

Just give it a few more minutes, okay?" The rich aroma of cooking food grew thicker. The kitchen sounded alive, but for the first time in my life, I actually felt safe.

It felt like a dream. We were both chronic peoplepleasers to our absolute core. The constant nagging that had always annoyed Mackenzie was literal music to my ears.

Phyllis was always exhausted, working multiple jobs just to pay off the debts Roxanne left behind in her pursuit of 'freedom'.

When I was little, I was locked inside alone for hours. I was constantly covered in burns from boiling water or splashing oil while trying to cook for myself.

If I fell or scraped my knee, and Phyllis came home to a mess? She just beat the shit out of me. But Colleen noticed everything.

She fussed over things I'd been doing since I was six years old. "Careful, that's hot!" "Leave that!

I'll do it, you'll slice your finger open." "Wow, Wren, you hung the laundry perfectly! So helpful." "Look at you, peeling that fruit so cleanly!

Great job, sweetie." I let myself drown in the praise. I started to lean into this bizarre, temporary reality.

I even caught myself testing the waters with small, harmless jokes—like acting spoiled and asking for a complicated dish for dinner. Before this?

The very concept of acting cute or asking for anything was terrifying. I expected mockery. "Wren, sweetie! Can you grab the food?" Colleen's voice snapped me back.

She had finished braising the beef short ribs. The smell was intoxicating. "Coming!" I bounced over, grinning as I reached for the massive, overflowing platter of meat.

My foot caught on the edge of the tile. I slipped. The platter launched out of my hands. I slammed hard into the floor. The food she'd spent hours cooking was completely ruined.

Dark, greasy gravy seeped into her pristine area rug. I was doomed. My brain buzzed, and I subconsciously covered my head, constantly apologizing. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!

I didn't mean to. I'll get a job, I'll pay for it. I'm sorry, it was a mistake. Please don't hit me. I'll pay it back.

I owe you, I'll pay you back." I was violently shaking, braced for the impact, completely paralyzed. Seconds dragged by. The hit never came. I cracked my eyes open and peeked up.

Colleen was staring down at me. Tears were pooling in her eyes. "Wren…" Her voice was a fragile whisper.

She reached out, her hands hovering midair, as if she were afraid that even the slightest touch might break me. "Are you hurt? Let's get you up first, okay?

Let me check if you got burned." She didn't hit me. She wasn't screaming about the ruined food or the stained rug. She was asking if I was hurt. Chapter 5 My gaze dropped.

The food, fresh off the stove, was a steaming, greasy mess across the floor. Boiling gravy clung to my forearms. The skin was already rising, angry and blistered red.

But my brain completely blocked out the physical pain, too hijacked by sheer panic. I just shook my head, my voice hollow. "Mom, I'm so sorry.

I ruined everything you cooked." "Oh, honey, it's just food," Colleen said, her voice impossibly steady. "Get up.

Let me grab the burn ointment." By the time I crept back out of my room, the floor was spotless. The ruined meal was buried deep in the trash. I hovered in the hallway.

My chest felt tight. I wanted to beg for her forgiveness. I wanted her to not hate me. But I knew the drill. I had ruined everything. Colleen sat on the living room sofa.

She patted the cushion beside her. "Wren, sweetie. Come sit." I shuffled over.

She carefully checked my wound first; the skin was already rising into angry, red blisters. "This is completely my fault," she muttered, frustration bleeding into her tone. "That floor is a hazard.

I should have let the platter cool down, or just carried it out myself." She pursed her lips, gently blowing cool air over the burns.

The stinging heat slowly gave way to a soothing, cooling sensation.

The words clawed their way up my throat before I could swallow them down. "Once, when I was little, I dropped my plate of dinner." Colleen's breath hitched. "Phyllis beat me.

Then she stripped off all my clothes and locked me outside." It was December, and it was snowing heavily. I stood naked in the snow, crying loudly.

The cold sliced right to the bone. But the shame was worse. I was old enough to know how humiliating it was to be stripped bare in the open.

I only got back inside because Henderson, the neighbor, called the cops. Phyllis dragged me in and shoved a pen in my hand. She forced me to write an IOU.

Ten bucks for the ruined food and the shattered ceramic. She kept a black ledger.

Every single dime she spent keeping me alive was tallied up, right alongside the massive debts Roxanne left behind. All of it had my name on it.

She died before I could pay off the balance. I didn't hate Phyllis. I didn't love her, either. If she hadn't taken me, CPS would have swallowed me whole.

Foster care could have been a lifeline, or a death sentence. There were no whatifs. She despised Roxanne, but she still put a roof over my head. She pushed me through high school.

Because of her, I was breathing. She was dead and gone, but the rot she left inside my head was permanent. By the time I finished talking, the sun had completely vanished.

The apartment was dark. I ruined dinner. In my mind, I forfeited the right to eat. I stood up. I needed to get my phone. I needed to Venmo her for the wasted groceries.

My knees hadn't even locked before a pair of arms wrapped around me.

Colleen pulled me tight against her chest. "Oh, Wren," she choked out, her voice cracking. "I am so, so sorry you had to carry all of that." She just said this one sentence and nothing else, quietly holding me and giving me strength.

My vision blurred. I buried my face in Mom's sweater, soaking the thick wool with ugly, jagged sobs. For the first time, I felt very wronged and cried loudly.

In the beginning, we were both suffocating under our own desperate need to please each other. I only ever ate until I was halffull. Taking too much felt like a trespass.

I fought her for the broom every morning, terrified that if I wasn't useful, I'd be thrown out.

I kept a running mental tally of every dollar she spent on me, planning to wire her the exact amount the second the month ended.

Colleen never pushed back when I set my fork down early. But that day she suddenly spoke up.

Her shoulders slumped, looking genuinely hurt. "Wren, you barely touch your plate," she said, her voice entirely vulnerable. "Do you hate my cooking?

And why are you up at the crack of dawn mopping? You're waking me up." I was dumbfounded. From then on, I ate to my heart's content and slept until I woke up naturally.

Chapter 6 It was New Year's Eve. Colleen and I had just hit the grocery store, hauling back a massive load of ingredients for a proper holiday feast.

I had never experienced a real family dinner in my entire life. We lugged four heavy bags up the stairs, laughing, until we spotted the silhouette blocking the apartment door.

Mackenzie. She had practically withered—dropping a shocking amount of weight in just a month.

She whipped around, her face twisted in absolute fury. "Why the hell didn't you leave a key for me under the mat? Why are you still here?

Get the fuck out of my house!" She lunged, clawing at the grocery bags in my hands. I twisted away, desperately trying to protect the food. But her grip was frantic.

Her nails tore right through the plastic. Produce spilled everywhere, apples and onions scattering across the dirty landing.

She lunged for the bags again. "Let go, get out of my house, you rapist's daughter!" "Let go!

You're crushing the groceries!" I yelled back. "Enough!" Colleen's voice cracked like a whip. Mackenzie yanked her hands back like she'd been burned.

Her eyes were bloodshot, glaring at me as if I was the one actively destroying her life. I stared back, completely lost.

Colleen jammed her key into the lock and shoved the door open. "Inside. Both of you. Now." Mackenzie immediately blocked the threshold, bracing her arms against the frame. "No!

She doesn't get to come in! She needs to leave right now!" I bent down and silently gathered the fallen fruits and vegetables, putting them back into the bag.

The neighbor was already peeking out. "I can leave," I whispered, my voice trembling. "But I need my suitcase." The tears spilled over my lashes before I even finished the sentence.

Colleen snapped. "Mackenzie, what the hell is wrong with you?" Mackenzie recoiled. She stared at Colleen in pure disbelief, her chin trembling. "Me? Crazy?

I almost got raped in Norway, and you're calling me crazy?" The blood drained from Colleen's face. "What happened?" She grabbed Mackenzie's arms, frantically checking her over.

Mackenzie ignored her, keeping her lethal glare pinned on me, her body completely barricading the door. Colleen froze.

She looked between her biological daughter and me, utterly torn.

I took a sharp, jagged breath and set the ruined groceries on the floor. "Mom, I'm going for a walk." I turned on my heel and practically fled down the stairs. "Wren…" Colleen called out, her voice tight with panic.

Mackenzie shoved her mother back inside the apartment. "She's not even your kid!

Why do you care if she drops dead?" I huddled in the freezing stairwell downstairs, clutching the scarf Mom had wrapped around my neck that morning, completely numb.

It was New Year's Eve. The distant, muffled pops of fireworks echoed through the frosty air. Every window in the building glowed with warm light.

Families were locked inside, celebrating together. And me? Where the hell did I belong? My fingers were numb.

I pulled out my phone and booted up TikTok, needing to search Roxanne's grid to figure out what had gone so wrong. My inbox icon was maxed out. Thousands of unread DMs.

My heart rate spiked, and my breathing became rapid. Violent tremors wracked my hands as I stared at the glaring red notifications. Was the digital mob back to skin me alive?

My thumb slipped, accidentally tapping the top message. @User774: Wren, I am so sorry. I totally misunderstood you and jumped on the hate train. I am so, so, so sorry.

The username triggered a sickening spike of deja vu. I scrolled up our chat history. Just weeks ago, she had sent me graphic paragraphs detailing exactly how I should kill myself.

I backed out of the thread. My entire inbox was an endless wall of apologies. One DM cut through the noise: @SkiBum99: We were completely manipulated.

I really hope you can forgive us. That monster is going to get what he deserves. These were the exact same people who had formed the frontline of Roxanne's digital firing squad.

Chapter 7 I tapped the top trending search. The narrative around Roxanne had violently flipped.

The search page was an endless scroll of drama channels and tea accounts tearing her apart. I swiped through the videos, the ugly truth piecing itself together.

Clip after clip played. The mask was slipping. One creator zoomed in on Roxanne's microexpressions, while another laid out a timeline of her lies.

The first three vlog episodes were massive hits. Her followers flooded the comments, crying about how Roxanne was "reparenting" them.

She took Mackenzie skiing, feeding her aesthetic monologues about being fearless and crushing obstacles.

She taught Mackenzie fine dining etiquette but encouraged her to never codeswitch or hide her unfiltered, loud personality. Never apologize for taking up space, she preached.

She filmed herself lecturing Zane and his brother, forcing her boys to respect Mackenzie and preaching zero tolerance for misogyny. It was pure algorithmic gold.

Every single video shattered a million likes. The comments were an echo chamber of blind worship. @SadGirlHours: I'm literally sobbing.

If I had a mom like this, maybe I wouldn't be so messed up. @FeministVibes: Roxanne is healing my inner child.

Never apologize for being loud and taking up space! @MiddleChild: I wish I had a gorgeous brother like Zane. My little brother Tucker is the ultimate golden child.

He treats me like garbage, and my boymom totally enables him. Then came episode four. Roxanne threw a massive, catered holiday party.

Mackenzie was working the room in a stunning designer dress, oozing confidence. Then Brody, some random male guest, copped a feel. Mackenzie snapped and shoved him off.

Brody, humiliated and furious, dragged Roxanne over. Mackenzie thought her badass idol would back her up. Instead, Roxanne iced her out.

She publicly berated Mackenzie for causing a scene. She accused her of weaponizing sexual assault claims and ruining the vibe.

Roxanne even edited the confrontation into a vlog, asking her followers if Mackenzie was overreacting to an "accidental brush." Roxanne expected the internet to side with her.

She miscalculated. Hard. In the real world, women had already endured enough of this overt and covert harassment. The guy was clearly a creep who knew exactly what he was doing.

Roxanne, the ultimate feminist icon, had gaslit a victim to protect an abuser. Her fans felt very disappointed and turned against her, reporting the video until it was taken down.

Roxanne's pristine grid went dead. Then the drama channels brought the receipts.

They spliced my old, desperate confession videos right next to Roxanne's polished feminist lectures to Mackenzie. They ripped apart her narcissistic, performative facade.

The real Roxanne was finally exposed. The woman who abandoned her newborn to chase an aesthetic.

The woman who saddled her exhausted mother with crippling debt, only to run off and snag a European husband to fund her main character fantasy.

Her entire empire was built on the blood and sweat of the family she threw away. The sidebyside edits were brutal.

On the left was me in threadbare clothes, accusing Roxanne of abandoning me.

On the right: Roxanne and Mackenzie draped in Moncler ski gear, preaching about female empowerment and confidence.

A massive number of casual users jumped in to demand justice for me. They refused to let Roxanne keep profiting off female trauma.

They hunted down every single stan who had ever harassed me and unleashed absolute hell on them. The same trolls who told me to end my life were now drowning in their own medicine.

They flooded my DMs, begging me to call off the mob. I locked my screen. I wasn't saving them. Chapter 8